


Freedom

by Qwerty_Hargreeves_25



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Drabble, Drug Use, Hiding from your emotions always works right, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Its mostly Klaus having a lot of FEELINGS, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Recreational Drug Use, inspired by a song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24435958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qwerty_Hargreeves_25/pseuds/Qwerty_Hargreeves_25
Summary: Because thinking leads to remembering. And remembering leads to pain.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves/Diego Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	Freedom

It's hard to think, with the heavy smoke swirling across the room in lazy whirls that made the moments spark like electricity. 

But honestly, that was the point, wasn't it? 

He brought the pipe back to his lips, tasted the tang of metal, felt the smooth warmth against his tongue as he sucked slowly, steadily, inhaling another deep breath of smoke.

He had read somewhere that your nipples were always colder than your teeth. 

That was an interesting thought. It made his stomach twist in an odd way, as he stared into the middle distance, tongue running across his teeth. 

God. His breath must reek. He made a note in his mind. Brush teeth at the next opportunity. Important. He circled it in mental red ink, so sure there was no way he could forget again when the haze started to vanish. 

And that made him think of thinking. 

Which reminded him that the reason he was here, laid out on a ratty mattress in his ratty apartment- the one he somehow never got kicked out of despite not paying rent for at least two years- was because he was not supposed to be thinking. 

Because thinking leads to remembering. And remembering leads to pain.

  
  


He took another deep breath through the pipe.

But it was too late now. 

It was a memory. 

Something he could feel in the tips of his fingers like pain. Like rage. Like love. 

Slipping smooth and soft between his fingertips like good white cotton sheets as he panted, clawing lightly at the fabric as he fought to remain silent, desperate but also desperate to not be caught by one of their siblings- or innumerably worse- Sir Reginald himself. A sensation he hadn't experienced and years, and yet would apparently never forget. 

How could he? 

How could he forget? 

The warmth of skin against his own. Glowing, even in the weakness of the dim light peeking through the window. 

The warmth. The feeling of utter safety as he competed for space with two other bodies in a bed that sometimes felt too cramped for his own lanky limbs. They all muttered about it, bickering back and forth under their breaths about exactly  _ whose  _ foot had been digging into  _ whose  _ spine. 

And yet they still ended up doubled and tripled more nights than not. 

God. 

No. 

He was not doing this tonight. 

He wasn't. 

He couldn't. 

Reaching into one of his many well-hidden coat pockets, he fished out a small bag, repacking his pipe before hiding it away again. 

Another burning lung full of smoke, and he could feel the thoughts dissolving into the air again. 

E ach moment a perfect snapshot in his mind, wholly separate from any other. 

There was no way to worry when he was like this. 

No way to think thoughts that were four or even five deep. 

No way to feel the chill of the air that said there was someone else nearby, even in this seemingly empty room. 

He couldn't see anyone. So there was no one there to see. Period. 

His chest ached for it. For the comforting presence that was right there. Just…. A few hours sober away. 

He loved him. 

Of course, of course he loved him.

He always would. 

And to see him this way? It was torture. 

It was worse than. 

So close. A constant reminder of his failures. Past and present, all wrapped into one. 

He wanted. He needed. But. First. Just. He needed a moment. He needed room. He needed the wide-open thoughts that gave him his freedom. 

He would never be free. 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written in a haze of 7 by Catfish and the Bottlemen on repeat in my headphones for three days. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! I'm working on a big project and I am PERISHING AND REQUIRE VALIDATION. 
> 
> Thank you for joining me.


End file.
